He had been on the point of drinking again. But her words arrested him, the tankard midway to his lips.
“Traitor? Gallows’ bird!” he ejaculated slowly. “I don’t think I take your meaning, mistress. D’ye apply these terms to me? To me?”
“To you, sir.” Her lips came firmly together.
He stared, frowning, a long moment. Then he shrugged and laughed.
“Ye’re mad,” he said with conviction, and finished his ale at a draught.
“No, I’m not mad, nor a fool neither, master rebel. A man’s to be known by the company he keeps. Birds of a feather flock together, as the saying goes. And how should you be other than a traitor that was friends with traitors, that was close with traitors, here in this house of mine, as I have seen and can swear to at need, and would if I wanted to do you a mischief. I’ll spare you that. But you leave my house to-day, or maybe I’ll change my mind about it.”
He crashed the tankard down upon the board, and came to his feet.
“’Sdeath, woman! Will you tell me what you mean?” he roared, his anger fanned by uneasiness. “What traitors have I been close with?”
“What traitors, do you say?” She sneered a little. “What of your friend Danvers, that’s being sought at this moment by the men from Bow Street?”
He was instantly relieved. “Danvers?” he echoed. “My friend Danvers? Why, I have no such friend. I never even heard his name before.”